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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29696232">The Dark Prince of Gotham</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaymien66/pseuds/gaymien66'>gaymien66</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DC Extended Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Child Abuse, Dark Multiverse: Hush AU, Hero! Hush, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Parent Death, Rewrite, Tales of the Dark Multiverse: Batman Hush</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:53:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,527</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29696232</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaymien66/pseuds/gaymien66</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the regular universe, Thomas Elliot went onto become the villain known as Hush, and Bruce Wayne became the hero known as Batman. In a universe where Bruce Wayne blames Tommy for his parents death and becomes Batman the Silenced contrasted against the hero known as Hush, how did this happen?</p><p>AU of Tales of the Dark Multiverse: Batman Hush based on my headcanons of the comic before the actual comic came out with a complete role-reversal. Reading the original comic is not entirely necessary.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Thomas Elliot/Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Just one of those nights.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mother</span>
  </em>
  <span> always preferred Bruce over her own, </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual</span>
  </em>
  <span> son, Tommy. His father didn’t have the same feeling: Envy, even. Envy over Bruce’s important family, the way Gotham held him up on a pedestal up above the Elliots, how much more </span>
  <em>
    <span>money</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bruce’s family had compared to the Elliots, even if Roger had all of Bruce’s money </span>
  <em>
    <span>regardless</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His father’s always been a bitter, jealous person. Violent, worse, even. So when Bruce was brought into the house (He did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to say adopted. He never wanted Bruce to consider the Elliots his parents, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>), it was safe to say that… Bruce got most of Roger’s abuse, while Tommy was left in the backdrop, watching his mother fuss over Bruce. Put him in the spotlight for all of Gotham to see, let the Gazette run story after story about the tragic Bruce Wayne and the heroic Elliots. His mother ate it up.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course,</span>
  </em>
  <span> that didn’t make him… Immune to his fathers abuse. Wrong time, try to stand up for Bruce, </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> excuse his father found to make him cower against him. This was one of the nights- You’d think, being seventeen, he’d be able to stand up to him by now. But no amount of fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Aristotle</span>
  </em>
  <span> could stop it. Especially not alone. Especially when Roger came into his room </span>
  <em>
    <span>personally</span>
  </em>
  <span>, just to cause him pain. He hated the drunken bastard. So it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>one of those nights</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Stumbling into Bruce’s room wasn’t a rare sight anymore: Bruce working, despite it being late in the night, sat at his desk with the golden glow of his lamp. He shoved the door closed and took a deep breath, leaning back against it with his head stinging painfully. It took the click of the door for Bruce to look up from where he’d buried his head in his notes, suddenly slamming his notebook closed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tommy...” Bruce whispered out, pulling himself up from his desk, moving quickly to his side. He felt fingers gently brush the side of a blossoming bruise, and he flinched slightly away. The hand clasped his own, and he squeezed back with a shaken breath. “... What did he do?” Bruce then asked, in a lower, darker tone, grabbing him suddenly by the wrist to pull him with a yank towards the bed, winding Tommy with the sudden movement. His heart pounded, but he didn’t try to pull away. “What did he </span>
  <b>
    <em>do?</em>
  </b>
  <span>” Bruce repeated, more firmly to try and get a response from the shaking ginger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you- Do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>think?</span>
  </em>
  <span> The same damned shit he always does,” Tommy whimpered out, feeling himself like a frightened little kid all over again. It was scarier before Bruce was here, but the guilt always ate him alone. Wished Bruce was never brought into this damned fucking house to begin with. Everything he's heard about Bruce's parents from Bruce sounded amazing. Sounded so good, and he wishes it was his parents who were shot in the alley that night. Not two of Gotham's best people. He shakily sighed, feeling Bruce working his way down his shirt to pull it from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bruise deepened on his chest, bruises making a strange outline of his ribs just beneath the skin. He never was a very big kid, especially not with how he was fed by his mother. So he was thin, Bruce managing to be the bigger of the two, granted not by much. Fingers danced against his skin, Tommy about to speak, before Bruce beat him to it. "Your ribs aren't broken," he muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know," Tommy's voice cracked as he spoke, pushing a broken smile onto his face as Bruce paused, staring him down with a dark look in his eyes. Bruce's lips twitched, shaking his head slowly, reaching down to grip Tommy's wrist again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you sleeping here tonight?" Bruce asked, the almost growling tone slipping into a soft and gentle voice. Tommy nodded, both knowing they've done this a million times before. "Good. I wouldn't want you back in your room. I don't understand why you insist on staying separate, it's not like anyone cares."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't want father to burst in on both of us…" his voice trailed off, swallowing deeply as Bruce got up to switch his desk light off, looking back towards him through the light filtering from the moon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It'd be easier if he was dead," Bruce whispered out, "Your mother too. Like my parents, </span>
  <em>
    <span>shot in an alleyway.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wouldn't that be </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bruce- We can't play that game again. We can't play with </span>
  <em>
    <span>lives</span>
  </em>
  <span>-" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Like </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>we can't. You're the one who told me," Bruce paused, stepping back to the bed to sit down besides Tommy, gently nudging Tommy to Lay down. Tommy, obedient, followed through. "You remember, right? How you confessed to me in such a dead tone about how you had plans to kill your parents, before I was brought into the picture…" Bruce cupped Tommy's cheek as he laid in front of him, with a pathetic attempt to pull away. He didn't, leaning in closer with his lips trembling. "...You even researched the model of car. I've seen the books up in the library. Wouldn't it just be so </span>
  <em>
    <span>easy?</span>
  </em>
  <span> We could be much happier, just you and--"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bruce</span>
  </em>
  <span>-- After Chill, we- no. We can't. We can't play with lives anymore, stop messing around." Guilt was strange for Tommy. Never felt bad about the idea of killing his parent's- Hell he </span>
  <em>
    <span>encouraged</span>
  </em>
  <span> Bruce that night they finally found Bruce's parent's murderer. What felt bad was he didn't want to be just like the man who killed Bruce's parents. It felt… entitled, somehow. He's grown since he was a little boy with fantasies to be an orphan adopted by the Wayne's. He at least got one thing. To live with Bruce…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce fell quiet, wrapping his arms around him firmly with Tommy pressing his face against the nook of his neck, gripping Bruce's shirt under the covers. "Goodnight, Bruce…" He whispered out, assuming Bruce wasn't going to say anything else. Bruce's tight grip- </span>
  <em>
    <span>protective</span>
  </em>
  <span> grip -reminded him there was still someone here for him. Who is going to keep him safe.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was his parents funeral. He's been feeling dizzy all week out of- of- a severe sense of deja vu. His parents died in a car crash- Accident, they said. Cops seemed to think so- Lawyers, too. His father had gone out to drive with his mother after having a bit too much to drink, and their driver was having a day off that night. He kept questioning if </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> killed them. Could he have? What if he fell into a dissociative state? Then what?... He didn't know how to feel. His chest ached, not with sadness or sorrow, but… With emptiness. He felt nothing at all. He hadn't cried, he hadn't gotten mad, he hadn't even felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Just… nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Staring into the coffins as they were lowered into the graves, he felt nothing. No joy or glee at the fact his abusive parents were finally being put into the ground once and for all: Maybe it felt too good to be true. Shocked out of his skin that he couldn't process it in any capacity. He threw the bouquet of roses he didn't remember buying or holding into the grave as the soil was piled on, and he just… stared. Watched as the graves were filled, long after everyone had left. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Here lies Roger and Marla Elliot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He felt sick to his stomach. Without his focus on anything but the graves and the empty pit in his stomach, he didn't white notice the man standing beside him. Long coat, suit, black hair and pale blue eyes- Bruce had had his eyes trained on the graves for just as long his lips curled into a soft smile. Bruce </span>
  <em>
    <span>rarely </span>
  </em>
  <span>smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Bruce…" Tommy whispered out, soft and quiet, but the sudden grip on his arm took him off guard, and he actually looked at him. He didn't stop smiling. Bruce reached slowly into his pocket with a soft hush, hand on his arm dragging down to grab Tommy's hand, tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm leaving Gotham." Bruce told him, his voice calm and smooth as he closed the space between them. "I don't know when I'm coming back. I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>sick</span>
  </em>
  <span> of Gotham. I need to focus my head." Tommy didn't respond, mostly out of the empty feeling in his stomach refusing to go away. He didn't know how to respond, feeling tears try to creep up to his eyes. Before anything could be said, Bruce closed the gap to pull him into a slow kiss. It felt cold, emotionless-- But he leaned in, his breathing deepening as warm tears rolled down his face, leaving a cold streak against the cold of Gotham's air. Bruce pulled back, slowly letting go of him to stare him in the eye. "I'll be back for you." He promised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy felt his body try to lean in and follow him when he turned away to walk into the distance- but something stopped him, feeling something in his closed palm, glancing down. His chest stirred uncomfortably at the string that slid between his palm and thumb, slowly opening his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart skipped a beat at the sight: He knew exactly what this was. It- it was his mothers necklace. A green, circular jade pendant that was connected to a string by a gold clasp, only it… the… His mother never took off this necklace, not even when she slept, she knew she never took it off. But it was never found on the body, and it… Dried patches of dark red droplets were both on the surface staining the stone, and dying the string a dark, dark red. Blood. This was his mothers blood. Taken from her body after she died, by…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...By Bruce. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he looked up, through the dizzy feeling and threat to throw up, he couldn't see Bruce in the distance. He wasn't at the Estate when he got back- Hell, he looked everywhere. He left Gorham. Just like he said, and he left him with the parting gift of an empty estate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spent a lot more time with Harvey after Bruce left. He was mourning: Not mourning the death of his parents, but mourning the loss of Bruce. He cleaned the necklace and hung it around his neck like a noose: Wearing the bitch's necklace, he couldn't bring himself to throw it. Not after Bruce's parting gift, chaining him to the memory of his parents every day of his life. He went onto medical school, leaving Gotham and parting ways with Harvey to pursue his studies: Of course, it wasn't all black and white. This was also when he met </span>
  <em>
    <span>Talia al Ghul</span>
  </em>
  <span>, heiress to the League of Assassins, looking for someone worthy of being the heir to her dynasty, and most importantly, becoming the protector of Gotham. He did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> refuse, going as far to finish his studies </span>
  <em>
    <span>in Gotham.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Some scenes were rewritten from the original comic &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Riddler. Give me the situation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“As far as I can tell, the entire building is empty. Are you sure this is the right place? I don’t know, Hush, it doesn’t feel right.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward’s voice rang out in his ear, earpiece hidden behind Elliot Pharmaceuticals-made bandages. He frowned, dropping down through a hole in Wayne Manor’s roof, ticket to The Mark of Zorro hidden inside his belt. Whoever this was- Whoever was </span>
  <em>
    <span>pushing him</span>
  </em>
  <span> -they knew too much about Elliots relationships to the Waynes, finding this on his desk at the hospital was a daunting sight, one that made him feel as sick as the day of his parents funeral. He tapped the side of his head, turning on the heat signature in his lens to glance around- Nothing, except for a few presumably rats he could see between the walls. His steps were light, completely silent under his boots, despite the old, creaking floorboards of the attic. Another hole through the ceiling, easy to drop down into without a sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is the place,” Tommy hushed out with confidence, “All that was left at the Monarch Theatre was the Gotham Gazette’s running of the Wayne murder. Whoever this is, they’re trying to lul Tommy out into the open,”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“If you say so. Be careful out there, To-”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Edward’s voice fizzled out in a glitched static, and he cursed. Connection must be busted this far out from the city, or something in this building was disrupting the connection. Damnit. “Riddler,” He repeated, for good measure. No response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wayne Manor evoked memories he had long since forgotten. A life when things were better, getting lost amongst the vast halls playing hide and seek with Bruce, finding every nook and cranny and drawing out their own maps. It looked so big when he was younger- In some regard, it still was. But nowhere near as big as it used to be, not through the eyes of a ten year old. The house was in ruins, glass shattered and wood rotting into itself, graffiti written along the walls from teenagers breaking in one too many times without repercussions: A dead memory of a dead family, one even he couldn't preserve, not at this state. He felt like he should have- Looked after the old place, kept it up to pace for if Bruce ever wanted to come home, the same Bruce Wayne that’s been assumed dead for much longer than a decade. His steps were light enough that there was </span>
  <em>
    <span>barely</span>
  </em>
  <span> a trace of his footprints in the dust. He assumed whoever this person was, wasn’t here- But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be able to find evidence tucked away which can point him in the right direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stepped past large family portraits that must have been too large for any looters to take, glancing up at the dusty sight of Thomas and Martha with their son, Bruce. They looked much happier than any of </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> family portraits. Light filtered unevenly from the moon through broken windows, many of them boarded up with only small gaps of light between the planks of wood, but the darkness was no issue against the night vision in his lens. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His eyes landed a pearl necklace laid in the middle of the floor of the opening entrance, on top of a torn rug. Another vague reference to the Wayne murders, but this one was much more specific. He’s read the articles written on Bruce time and time again- He knows that the pearls never made it into the news. Bruce’s mothers pearls. Tommy’s hand quietly raised to the jade necklace hung around his neck, and he pulled onto the railing to jump down with a gentle landing, his cape slowing the fall. He knelt near the pearls, frowning to pick them up, searching for fingerprints.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Cr-aaack.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s heart jumped at the sudden snapping of wood beneath his feet, grabbing the pearls tightly to pull out his grapple gun, shooting upwards towards the chandelier that hung above him, the floor caving in beneath his feet as he pulled himself into the air. Close ca-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rope to the grapple was suddenly cut, his stomach leaping in him at the sudden drop, trying, in desperation, to grab onto the remaining floor, to no avail, and fell down into the descent of darkness that he didn’t even </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> was beneath Wayne Manor. Didn’t give him much time between the panic and drop that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>much further down</span>
  </em>
  <span> than it had any right to be, gripping onto the sides of his cape to catch the air around him, slowing his fall last second to land in a crouch against the stone ground, pearls still clutched in his gloved grip to look up, and around. Pitch black, but he could make out the area: This was the cave system that ran under the Elliot Estate. He had no idea it ran this far out, especially not under Wayne Manor, not recognising this part of the cave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heat signature--</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hush, little babe, lest you call down the bloody Bat of Gotham town, he lurks above, desiring of a corpse to plant beneath the ground…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>--Not necessary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” Tommy called into the darkness, zoning in on a man sat calmly on the floor, humming out the </span>
  <em>
    <span>overly unnerving</span>
  </em>
  <span> song. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hush little baby</span>
  </em>
  <span>- They were expecting him, the song being a known attribute of his Vigilante persona. He paused-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alfred Pennyworth?” He asked, out of vague memory. Bruce’s butler, before the Elliots took Bruce into their home. A kind man, from what little he remembered- He never knew what happened to him after he was put into retirement. How long has he been </span>
  <em>
    <span>here?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Master Tommy, you made a terrible mistake coming here,” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew who he was. How? Was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Alfred</span>
  </em>
  <span> the one behind all of this? No- It made little sense, he was just a Butler, it- His gaze snapped up, falling quiet at the first sign of light past the vague moonlight from way-above. Two piercing red eyes, perched behind the butler like a gargoyle, ready to strike on an unsuspecting victim. He was already reaching for Husharangs from his belt, “Alfred! Behind you!” He hissed in the same hushed tone, only </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span> louder, but the Butler didn’t move, whatever that </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> was pouncing over his head to leap for him, Tommy being quick to dodge to the side.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>“Tommy…”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice growled through a tight grin, their cape falling behind him like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bat</span>
  </em>
  <span>, buckles hanging off of the sides of the cape. It stalked him, Hush holding up the husharangs in self defense, despite his nerves, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> a better look at him, being circled by something just as powerful as him. The voice gave him </span>
  <em>
    <span>shivers</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The darkness shadowed all but the man’s red eyes, a quick jump from them putting them out of his sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>“I know what you did, Tommy. Why don’t you tell the </b>
  <b>
    <em>audience?</em>
  </b>
  <b>”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been tracking me.” Tommy called out, glancing at loose bandages by his feet. They weren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> bandages. “Who are you? I can’t exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>confess</span>
  </em>
  <span> when you’re hiding behind the shadows. Come out to play.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a sudden </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud</span>
  </em>
  <span> as the man dropped in front of him, putting his eyes wide behind his mask with a sudden step backwards, staring him in the eye. There was a soft clicking, their grin twitching to reach out for him. Looking him in the face was what got him caught </span>
  <em>
    <span>most</span>
  </em>
  <span> off guard. Past the glowing red eyes, it was like staring into a </span>
  <em>
    <span>broken mirror</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Their mask was covered in bandages, grin </span>
  <em>
    <span>sick</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and ears were pointed atop of the mask that was made to replicate and </span>
  <em>
    <span>mock</span>
  </em>
  <span> his own. Bandages fell over his arms, loose and dirty, and a red </span>
  <em>
    <span>bat</span>
  </em>
  <span> symbol spread across his chest. Someone new- It </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be someone new. Someone who knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>too much</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His arm was grabbed- Too quickly, too forcefully, to force him in close, the pearls being torn away from him: </span>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>“Those aren’t yours.</em>
  </b>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice growled lowly into his ear, sending a shudder down his spine. The name slipped out without his consent, voice sounding mildly broken: “Bruce…” He whispered, closing his eyes only for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>second</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and the figure darted out of his sight. He’s alive. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive</span>
  </em>
  <span>--...</span>
</p><p>
  <b>“Batman.” </b>
  <span>The voice announced, the sound bouncing against the walls of the cave, turning on his heel to throw a husharang towards the red light in the distance, but the light vanished quickly, making him whip around with a sudden jump backwards. </span>
  <b>“Tell me about that night in the alleyway, won’t you?”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>But the ‘Batman’ didn’t deny the accusation. He told him he would come back for him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and he did</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Bruce.” He repeated, “You have the wrong idea. You’re- You’re having an </span>
  <em>
    <span>episode</span>
  </em>
  <span>. We can talk about this, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sudden shove caught him off his feet, rolling to his side, instinctively covering his face with his armoured glove, a red bat-shaped shuriken piercing the metal. Shit. </span>
  <b>“You’re the one who ordered the death of my parents, weren’t you? You </b>
  <b>
    <em>wanted</em>
  </b>
  <b> your parents to take me in. You wanted us to be </b>
  <b>
    <em>closer</em>
  </b>
  <b>, and subject me to the same abuse</b>
  <b>
    <em> you</em>
  </b>
  <b> were supposed to get and </b>
  <b>
    <em>I</em>
  </b>
  <b> got instead.”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Bruce- you’re delusional. Let me help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only response he got was a second ‘Batarang’ piercing the floor in front of his feet, pinning a piece of paper underneath it. He scanned the room, quickly, for any heat signatures- Nothing. Not even Alfred. He left?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was an intense glitch in his ear, a voice fizzling in-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tommy- Tommy, come in, Tommy-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Riddler, I copy. I found our culprit.” He gently picked the paper off from the ground, scanning it. The traditional </span>
  <em>
    <span>hush little baby</span>
  </em>
  <span> lullaby- and the back; </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘I promised I’d be back. I’ll be seeing you.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh thank God- Who? Are you alright? I couldn't get through the connection. Something was blocking it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bruce Wayne. I have a feeling this is just the start of a larger mystery.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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